


A Light on the Water

by keita52



Series: An absolute tiger between the sheets [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/F, F/M, Gen, Jealousy, Reunions, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:55:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4786430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keita52/pseuds/keita52
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ilana Lavellan gets the chance to reunite with her friend and partner Fenarel Sabrae, it goes horribly wrong and leaves her questioning everything about her new life at the Inquisition - including whatever might have been developing between her and Blackwall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My perfectionist streak is making me apologize for the fact that this doesn’t feel as, ahem, filled out as it could be. But as much as I really don't need anything else on my WIP list, this wouldn’t go away (especially since I was already on my way to writing something with this Lavellan). Title comes from “Into the West” aka the ending song for The Return of the King. Also, thanks and a shout-out to Project Elvhen for helping me come up with a name for Mahariel (Eirean = Snow Bird). Ilana’s name comes from a previous character and was a bit too perfect not to use for my Lavellan.
> 
> Full prompt from the Kink Meme at the end.

It is not always easy to see the cause of things. Most events have more than one immediate cause, or at least several contributing factors. There are always exceptions, of course. The apostate Grey Warden Anders’ actions in Kirkwall being one of them. Chaos spread out from Kirkwall, driving many to flee the city - including the elves of the Sabrae clan, leaderless after the death of their Keeper. They had the strongest ties to Lavellan, and so they went there, a weary and much-diminished group of elves by the time they met the Lavellan patrols.

Every adult member of Lavellan that was available to do so rushed forward to assist the weary Sabrae, including one young woman who received a large number of stares. It wasn’t because of her looks - she was a mostly unremarkable young woman, Andruil’s markings on her face broken in some places by small, long-healed scars, her honey-colored hair pulled back into a bun. She was dressed like the other hunters and moved with the same speed and grace as all her fellows.

Ilana Lavellan was used to such stares. She’d endured them from the day that she had first tried to lift the greatsword that was now strapped to her back. The shem that had been the original owner of the greatsword had killed her father and older brother. Others in the clan would have wanted nothing to do with the weapon that took their only living kin from them, but Ilana had decided to make it her own instead. She pushed herself, spent all her spare time making herself stronger, until the day came when she took a shem’s life with the sword. Then the stares of pity changed to ones of respect - but they all still kept their distance. Ilana had marked herself as different. That aura of ‘difference’ had only become stronger when word came of Eirean Mahariel, the elf who had become a Grey Warden and the Hero of Ferelden. Eirean Mahariel, who wielded a greatsword not unlike the one Ilana had become proficient with.

Eirean Mahariel, who had once been part of clan Sabrae.

It explained why some of the Sabrae gave her the same respectful looks that she received from her own clan. But it didn’t explain the hunter, a few years older than her twenty-six, who refused to meet her gaze when she tried to help him. She did her best not to let her pain and confusion show when she moved away.

It wasn’t until later, when things died down, that she found out why he’d had that reaction. His name was Fenarel, and he had been one of Eirean Mahariel’s closest friends before she was conscripted by the Grey Wardens to save her life.

Fenarel’s story - which was also the clan’s story - unfolded over the coming weeks as the Sabrae were integrated into Lavellan. How Fenarel, Eirean, and two others - Tamlen and Merrill - had been a tight-knit quartet. How Eirean had been brought back to the camp one day, unconscious in the arms of a Grey Warden, with Tamlen nowhere in sight. How Eirean had recovered enough to go out with Fenarel and Merrill in search of Tamlen, finding the Grey Warden at the mirror that had taken Tamlen. How Eirean had left with the Warden because it was the only way she might live. How Merrill had been consumed by her search to understand the mirror, leading her to make a bargain with a demon and learn the use of blood magic - and how that had caused her to leave the clan in the company of Jeannie Hawke, the Ferelden refugee who would become Kirkwall’s Champion. 

And finally, how Marethari had sacrificed herself to save Merrill from the demon, and how the Champion had barely saved her lover’s life when the Sabrae clan discovered the whole truth.

It was little wonder that Fenarel was so determined to keep his distance from her. But during the integration of Sabrae into Lavellan, hunters from the two clans were mixed to find the best combinations. And Fenarel knew how to work with someone wielding a greatsword. He was, in fact, the best partner that Ilana had ever had. Ilana could have let him continue to be cold, request a new partner. When she decided to confront him about his actions instead, it set them both on a path that neither of them could have predicted.

* * *

“Fenarel, we need to talk.”

Those words - that tone - they meant nothing good, but Fenarel forced himself to look at Ilana Lavellan. He had suspected that his cold behavior would lead her to do something. She wasn’t the type to just let the status quo stand. But he had hoped that she’d request a new partner. It had been a vain hope, he could admit now. Fenarel stopped walking and folded his arms across his chest.

“So talk,” he said, not caring how annoyed he sounded.

Ilana sighed. “I’ve heard your story, all right? I know about Tamlen and Eirean, and Merrill. I get why you’re so irritable.”

“I’m not irritable,” Fenarel protested.

Ilana just barked out a laugh. “Call it whatever you’d like,” she said. “You’re not making any effort at all to get along with me. And as I said, I understand some of it. Did anyone ever tell you why I carry this sword?”

Fenarel shook his head reluctantly. He had never wanted to ask. Ilana had already reminded him far too much of Eirean. He didn’t want to know how similar their stories might be.

Ilana drew the greatsword and held it out in front of her. “My father was one of the best hunters of our tribe, and this weapon took his head. My brother managed to wound the shem before he died. If he hadn’t done that, there would have been no way for me to hurt the shem, much less kill him.” She went quiet for a moment, staring at the trees. “I remember lying there next to my father’s body, looking at the sword. Hating it for what it did to my loved ones. I thought, if someone had been carrying one of these - if one of the People had stood against the shem - my family might still be alive. My father told me to use my fear, to not let it use me. So I decided I would learn to use the greatsword, even though it terrified me. Even though I couldn’t lift it. I would become strong enough to use it, and then I would be strong enough to keep my clan alive.” Ilana turned to meet his gaze. “I know about loss, Fenarel. I know about being the one who has to live on when others have left. I can be a true partner to you, if you will let me. I won’t chastise you for brooding or try to get you to talk to the other members of the clan - your clan, now - as long as you talk to me. So that we can keep the others alive.”

Something inside Fenarel began to crack. Walls that he had kept up for nearly ten years, walls that he’d built when Eirean rejected his declaration of love and chosen Tamlen instead. He had forced himself to be happy for them, because they were his best friends, along with Merrill. And then it had all come apart. Tamlen, dead - Eirean, lost to the Wardens - Merrill, lost to the Eluvian. Fenarel was the only one who had tried to keep his old life, even though it no longer had his friends in it. But even that had cracked and fallen apart when Merrill killed Marethari. When he had come so close to killing Merrill.

Fenarel looked at Ilana again, and for the first time, he didn’t see Eirean. He saw that aside from the same vallaslin, their faces looked nothing alike. He saw the scars that showed Ilana wasn’t the young and innocent girl Eirean had been, all those years ago. 

It was only the beginning of a crack, a slow trickle of feelings - but it was enough for him to drop his gaze. “ _Ir abelas,_ ” he said. “I have wronged you. I never gave you a chance.” He looked into her bright green eyes. “I rejoice that you have given me a second one.”

Ilana smiled. “It’s all right,” she assured him. “Like I said, I know about loss. I know about the extremes it can drive you to.” She dropped her gaze. “And I know that such loss can still hurt, no matter how long it has been.”

Yes, Fenarel realized. Here was someone else who understood the grief he still carried. He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps we shall be able to help each other with the pain.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tired and weary, having driven off yet another group of shems, Ilana and Fenarel made their way back to the camp. Ilana took the lead and Fenarel kept watch behind them, as was their habit. They worked together so well, Fenarel reflected. The months they had spent as partners meant that he felt closer to her than anyone else in the combined Lavellan-Sabrae clan. 

They both relaxed a little when they came within sight of the watch, and allowed their guard to drop once the challenge had been properly answered. But before they could go any further, the elf on watch spoke. “The Keeper asked to see you immediately after you came in,” he said.

Ilana and Fenarel exchanged glances. “Did she say why?” Ilana asked.

The watch shook his head. “No, just that it was important. She’s in her tent, with the others.”

“We’d better go then,” Ilana said. 

“What others?” Fenarel asked as they walked away, keeping his voice low.

“The elders, I’d imagine,” Ilana said. “Whatever this is - it’s big.”

“So why us?” Fenarel asked. “What makes us important enough to be part of this?”

“I don’t know, and that worries me,” Ilana said quietly.

Fenarel nodded, and they passed the rest of the short trip in silence. Keeper Isthimaethoriel greeted them and welcomed them inside, where the rest of the clan’s elders were in fact gathered. Ilana and Fenarel exchanged another nervous glance, feeling out of place.

“We have learned that there is to be a Conclave in the south,” Isthimaethoriel said. “Called by the humans’ Divine to try and mediate peace between the mages and templars. I do not have to tell any of you what impact that has had on our lives - Lavellan and Sabrae alike. Thus it is imperative that one of our own go to the Conclave and learn what they can. You, Fenarel, have been chosen for this honor - and you, Ilana, will go with him as his protector.”

Silence lingered for a moment in the tent as Fenarel and Ilana tried to process the news. Finally, Fenarel spoke - and he couldn’t hide the bitterness that tinged his voice. “It’s because of Eirean and Merrill, isn’t it?”

“Yes, da’len,” Master Ilen said gently. “Because we expect that our Eirean or Merrill’s Hawke might be there, and they may tell you more than you could otherwise learn.”

“Eirean is not ours anymore, Master Ilen,” Fenarel said stiffly. “She belongs to the Wardens.”

“But she has never forgotten her people,” Ilen replied. “You know this.”

Ilana rested a hand on Fenarel’s shoulder. He appreciated the gesture, knowing it was one of support and comfort. At least he wouldn’t be alone. At least he would have Ilana with him.

“When do we leave?” he asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Isthimaethoriel said. “We are putting together supplies and maps for you to use as you travel to Haven. I would advise you both to rest. The clan will see you off at first light.”

* * *

The trip was long, and there were times where Fenarel was sure that he wouldn’t have been able to make it without Ilana. Having two people meant they traded watches, kept an eye out while the other one was vulnerable - as they always did in the woods.

But there was no camp at night, no clan to welcome them home. When they did encounter other clans, they were treated as honored guests and got to relax. Fenarel discovered more about Ilana that he had never noticed before - how her quiet determination could coax even the most reluctant into talking, given enough time. The way her face lit up when she visited the halla and ran her hands through their silky fur. The cracks that had begun on that day she forced him to see her for herself were wide open, and he was full near to bursting with feelings that he had never expected to feel again.

They made to the Frostback Mountains, camping a safe distance from Haven to avoid attracting attention. Despite the distance, they could still see lights and movement.

“So many people,” Ilana said, with more than a touch of wonder in her voice, as they sat on the ground besides one another. Fenarel was reminded that Lavellan had largely kept clear of large settlements. Having lived for several years near Kirkwall, he was more used to the sight. “I don’t know how you’re going to find Eirean or Hawke.”

“They’ll be obvious,” Fenarel said. “Getting to them will be the problem.” His voice was curt - he didn’t want to talk about Eirean.

“It’s all right, Fenarel,” Ilana said, misinterpreting his tone, smiling at him reassuringly. “I’ve got your back.”

Fenarel wasn’t actually aware that he had moved until he had Ilana’s face in his hands, pressed his lips to hers. He felt her stiffen in surprise, and then she kissed him back. His body sang with excitement and joy at having her there with him. Ilana, who always had his back, who had guarded him with her own life on more than one occasion. Despite the comparatively short time, she was _his_ Ilana in a way that Eirean had never matched - and with that kiss, with that moment of mutual realization, Fenarel Sabrae said goodbye to whatever he might have had with Eirean Mahariel and embraced what he _did_ have with Ilana Lavellan.

Ilana reached for him, and he let her pull him closer. Fenarel’s hand moved to the back of her head, against the tight bun she usually kept her hair in. He kissed her again, and again, until they were both gasping for breath, entwined with one another.

Ilana pulled away slightly, and he felt an unreasonable stab of anguish until he saw the look on her face. Warm, inviting, slightly teasing. She scooted backwards towards their tent. Normally only one of them slept in it at a time, but there was room enough for two. Fenarel followed her eagerly and tied the tent flaps off. When he turned back to face her, she was sliding her undershirt away from her body to expose her creamy skin, several shades lighter than her arms, legs, and face. Fenarel reached out and ran his calloused fingers over her soft breasts. Ilana’s head tilted back and she let out a sigh of pleasure.

Fenarel had intended to take his time, be tender and explore these new feelings, but something in how she sighed set him completely aflame and he reached for her, pushing her down onto the bedroll. For a moment, they were both breathing heavily, noses touching, and then Fenarel kissed her again. His erection pressed insistently against his thigh, and he broke the kiss to fumble at his belt. Ilana’s hands came up to help, and then he turned his focus to getting the rest of her armor and clothing off. 

Soon enough they were both naked, the touch of skin on skin an almost unbearable delight. Ilana used both of her hands to pull his face in for another kiss, her tongue slipping inside his mouth. Fenarel groaned when a slight shift of her body brought her inner thigh into contact with his erection. Ilana spread her legs open wider and helped to guide him inside her. His breath hitched as her walls clenched around him. He took a deep breath and thrust himself forward, groaning as a wave of pleasure washed over him. Ilana pressed herself tighter against him, encouraging him to keep going, and Fenarel was only too happy to oblige her. What little control he had was rapidly slipping away from him. He had been keeping all of this pent up inside him for too long, and this was _Ilana_ , the person he trusted above all others. With her, he could relax - with her, he could let go. His hands clenched on the bedroll beneath him for leverage, his movements becoming increasingly fast and frenzied. 

Fenarel thrust himself against her over and over again, heard her whimpers in time with his movements. Ilana’s hands clutched tightly against his back and he heard her gasp, then give a satisfied sigh and go limp. That seemed to be the cue his body had been waiting for, as his own release washed over him a moment later. For several long moments, Fenarel lay there against her, mind completely empty of everything except the joy of what had just happened and the pleasure he still felt from the close contact of their bodies. It felt like a gift, this intimacy, this act of taking their relationship a step further - a gift he had never looked for, had never dreamed he might receive. 

Fenarel was still nervous about tomorrow, still uncertain of how he would react if he saw either Eirean or Hawke. But now ... he felt as though he _could_ face it - his past, the responsibility the Keeper had laid on him. On them both.

Yes, that was the key - he could face anything, as long as he had Ilana by his side.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been channeling personal stress into the writing of angst, and this is the angstiest WIP I have.

The next day, they rose early and started scouting the periphery of the Conclave. Ilana reluctantly left her greatsword behind as being too conspicuous. Fenarel lent her a spare set of daggers so that she would have something to protect herself with, although both of them hoped not to have to use blades.

There were elven servants and mercenaries enough that they were able to find ways to get close, to eavesdrop on what the mages, templars, and Chantry clerics were discussing. From those discussions, they quickly learned that the Warden and the Champion were not at the Conclave - in fact, they were not expected to arrive at all. 

Ilana and Fenarel returned to their camp at the end of the day with little more than rumors. After their evening meal, they sat together in front of their small fire.

"How are we supposed to find anything out?" Ilana asked, trying without success to keep the frustration out of her voice. 

"The same way we did today, da'len," Fenarel said. His smile made Ilana’s stomach flutter and she smiled back, feeling more than a little giddy. "By being unobtrusive and listening." 

"But we learned nothing, aside from who is here and who is not," Ilana said. She was reluctant to argue, not wanting to break the warmth between them, but this was their mission, their reason for having traveled so far from home.

"Then perhaps we should split up," Fenarel said. "We may learn more that way."

Ilana shook her head. "No. How can I protect you if we are separated?"

Fenarel placed a hand on her arm. "You were to protect me because I was the one who could get the information we needed. I was the one who would be recognized and trusted. That is not true anymore. We must continue to sneak around to find what we need - and we are equally suited for such a task."

Ilana’s stomach roiled at the thought of not being able to watch Fenarel’s back. But she knew he was right. She slid her hand along the underside of his arm and grasped their hands together, taking comfort from the warmth and contact. “I don’t like it,” she said quietly.

“Neither do I, da’len,” Fenarel said. “But both of us know how to do our duty to the clan.”

That was also true. Ilana sighed and bowed her head in resignation. “All right. Tomorrow, we split up.”

Fenarel let go of her hand, moving it under her chin to tilt it up. “The fact that you are this concerned about me warms my heart,” he said quietly, and Ilana’s heart started beating faster. “How grateful I am that you took the initiative to smooth things over with us. If you had not ...”

“Well, I did,” Ilana said, smiling softly at him. “And you are not the only one who takes joy in how events did fall out.” She leaned in and stole a kiss from his lips, bringing her hand up to rest against his cheek. Fenarel returned her kiss enthusiastically and Ilana slid her hands under his armpits, bringing their chests together. Her stolen mercenary armor began to chafe after only a moment and she cursed, making a show of checking the armor to let Fenarel know exactly why she was annoyed. Ilana knew he was a little insecure, and she understood why - and she wanted to ease that hurt and show him how much she valued him for himself. How much she admired his decisive nature, his ability to assess a situation and clearly see what had to be done about it. 

“Perhaps,” Fenarel said slowly, “we should retire to our tent?” His gaze was intent, watching her face closely for reactions. 

“That would certainly be the better course of action,” Ilana replied, and felt a smile blossoming across her face to match his.

In what seemed like no time at all the tent flap was secured behind their naked bodies and Fenarel’s hands were caressing her breasts, hesitant at first but with increasing confidence and purpose. Ilana was not at all loath to let him continue, her head tilted back in ecstasy, moaning softly under his ministrations. She sat in his lap, her hands resting on his shoulders, occasionally moving them up to trace the outline of his face. She felt warmth spreading throughout her body, transitioning from a pleasant haze to a roaring bonfire. Her need drove her to kiss him again - hard, passionate, demanding.

Later, when they were wrapped in their blankets, arms twined around one another, Ilana whispered words that she had been sure she would never say. Not after her entire family died and left her with vengeance instead of love. _”Ar lath ma, vhenan.”_

_“Vhenan,”_ Fenarel repeated, nuzzling the side of her neck. “My heart.”

* * *

Morning came far too soon. Fenarel wanted to continue lying there with Ilana in his arms, to pretend that they were back at Lavellan and had only patrolling to worry about.

But soon enough they were parting ways, their belongings stashed under a pile of leaves - Ilana heading for the mercenaries and Fenarel for the servants. Ilana still had the daggers he had loaned her the day before, and his own were strapped to his legs. It would take him far too long to pull them out in case of a fight, and their presence would mark him as something other than a servant - but he couldn’t bring himself to go unarmed. He was among enemies, and his only ally wouldn’t be able to help him if he ran into trouble.

Fenarel went about his duties with his head bowed, pretending a humility he didn’t feel. Ignoring the insults the shems threw his way was difficult. He distracted himself with thoughts of Ilana, and what things would be like after they got back to Lavellan. Surely they would bond now. They were both adults and could provide for themselves and any children they might have. 

Fear that Ilana might not want to bear his children threatened to stop his heart. With an effort, he forced the fear back. She had seen his anxiety and tried to reassure him. She loved him. Everything would work out.

When the leaders of this Conclave sent for their midday meal, Fenarel managed to get himself chosen as one of the servants chosen to bring the meal to them. He saw Ilana standing at guard duty, and made himself keep his eyes on the path ahead of him. He could give no sign that they knew each other.

Ilana met his eyes as he passed her, and for a moment his worry vanished. The moment passed, and he was back to being a spy in the heart of the Conclave, with the shems who would shape the fate of the People in the years to come.

Fenarel kept his eyes down and his posture beaten as he entered the room with the tray of food, placing it on the table as directed. When he was done, he exited the room, acting as though he was heading back to the kitchens — only to turn around and head back once the other servants had overtaken him. 

The rooms were not soundproofed. Fenarel could hear the conversation inside, if distinctly. He moved around cautiously for a few moments until he found a spot where he could eavesdrop without being seen.

Disappointingly, the conversation was only a casual one. Business had been put aside over the meal, and the Chantry clerics inside were merely gossiping. Fenarel debated moving along. After a moment, he realized there was no guarantee that he would be able to find another spot like this. He would have to stay, to wait for the conversation to turn to more serious matters.

“Oy! You!” 

Fenarel whipped his head around and felt the blood drain from his face. He knew his cover was blown, in that instant. His reaction was one of fear and guilt. Whether or not a real elven servant would have reacted that way, he had shown the human guard that he had something to hide.

And so he did the only thing he could. He ran.

The guard shouted something indistinct and charged after him. Fenarel’s only focus was on finding a path out of the Conclave and into the woods. He was confident that he could lose his pursuers there. He would not take any chances that he might lead them to their camp.

Shouts erupted in Fenarel’s wake. He paid them no attention. He had to get out, and he was faster than the guards in heavy mail. 

Fenarel gasped in the cold mountain air, pausing for only a moment before he darted off into the woods. Or tried to.

A massive shockwave hit Fenarel, throwing him into the air. His limbs flailed wildly, hopelessly, and then he crashed into the dirt and lost consciousness.

* * *

The sky above him was pitch black when he awoke, showing that he had been out for several hours. Fenarel hurt all over. Bringing himself to his feet seemed to be the hardest thing that he had ever done in his life.

He forced himself to think about the last things he remembered. He’d been spotted by a guard, and he’d run outside just before the explosion. And before that…

What color he had managed to regain drained from his face all over again. Ilana. He’d seen Ilana. She’d been inside when the explosion had happened.

Fenarel tried to start running towards the ruins of the Conclave, but his legs failed him and he fell to the ground once more. He breathed heavily for several minutes, branches and roots pressing uncomfortably against his body. He wanted to go back to look for Ilana. He wanted it more than he’d wanted anything in his entire life, or so it seemed.

He also knew that dragging himself back to the remains of the Conclave would mean his certain capture. If he was unlucky, it would also mean that he would be (somehow) blamed for the explosion.

Fenarel choked back something close to a sob as he finally drew himself up with the aid of a nearby tree. A few moments’ search gave him a sturdy enough branch to use as a staff. He took a deep breath before setting off for the copse where he and Ilana had hid their belongings that morning, hobbling unevenly, having to stop multiple times to rest.

When he finally did make it, he made himself spend the last of his energy making something that resembled a proper camp. His mind whirled. He’d have to make his way to the nearest Dalish clan and spend time recuperating with them. If Ilana survived, she’d make her way there eventually. 

He had to believe that she’d survived. The alternative - that the joy and happiness he had experienced only this morning had been torn away from him - was too painful for him to contemplate. _Not now,_ he silently begged the Creators. _Not when I’ve just found love again. Not when I’ve just found her._

There was no answer from the Creators as he finally allowed himself to slide into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> So, bear with me here, long prompt is long. The Inquisitor is a person, right? With a past and a whole life before coming to the Conclave? So picture this. The Quizzy's best friend/boyfriend/brother/whoever, the person closest to her, says goodbye to her, she leaves for the Conclave, and the next thing the Friend hears is that there was an explosion and everyone was killed. Friend is devastated. Friend mourns the death of the Quizzy. Then they start hearing rumors of this evil "Inquisition"... 
> 
> Meanwhile, the Inquisitor eventually gets a war table mission to help someone having to do with her origin. (Mage!Quiz defends mages from templars, Trevelyan looks for a kidnapped family member, Adaar's mercenary band needs backup, Merchants Guild is dealing with the Carta, Lavellan's clan's under attack, whatever.) The Inquisitior hears that her friend is already there to help. Inquisitor is elated at the prospect of seeing her Friend again.
> 
> Their reunion goes about as well as Shepard's on Horizon with the Virmire survivor, meaning not well at all.
> 
> The Friend is furious that the Quizzy is part of the Inquisition, feels like she's betrayed everything she used to stand for. Maybe she's a mage and she sided with the templars, or is now dating a templar. Or the other way around. Maybe she's an elf and is now calling herself the Herald of Andraste and seemingly working for the Chantry. Maybe his problem is that the Inquisition is technically Orlesian.
> 
> Whatever the issue is, the Friend doubts that it's actually the real "her" who stepped out of the Fade. Maybe she was replaced by a demon with her face. If it is really her, the Mark must have changed her, because she's unrecognizable to him now.
> 
> TL;DR- On a war table mission, Fem!Quiz is reunited with her closest friend/relative/lover from before the Conclave, who thought she died in the blast. Unfortunately he now despises her for not only joining but leading the big bad Inquisition. Think Horizon in ME2.
> 
> The rest is up to the author. Is their relationship platonic or romantic? Do they ever reconcile? Fluff? Smut? Anything goes, just give me lots of reunion fail angst.
> 
> Bonuses: 
> 
> +Friend can be an OC, but bonus if you can reasonably work in an existing minor character who doesn't get enough love.  
> ++Quizzy and Friend are in that confusing in-between place where they're in love with each other but don't talk about it and pretend it doesn't exist.  
> +++Throw in the angst of a budding relationship or newly established relationship with one of the canon male LIs.  
> ++++LI jealousy.  
> ++++Friend jealousy.  
> +++++Quizzy/Friend UST.  
> ++++++Puppetmaster Leliana tries to help.
> 
> Squicks: Toilet stuff, beastiality, non-con.


End file.
